


Wine Pt. 4

by namenlos



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Daft Punk Love, Human Daft Punk, M/M, duft pank - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namenlos/pseuds/namenlos





	Wine Pt. 4

Starring Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo

Current Era (RAM)

Guy’s POV

 

Wine for breakfast. And a Vicodin. And another. And another. And another. What was I doing? I thought as I kept popping them. 8, 9, 10… I had a habit of counting everything. Steps on a stairway, bites of food, brush strokes through my hair. OCD big time. I couldn’t stop counting things. I was irked that my pill count ended at 11. Couldn’t even be decent enough to end on an even number. Fuck. I let the plastic bottle roll off my fingertips and onto the floor. There wasn’t a label on it, as I had bought the pills off the street. Pop a Vicodin, drink a bottle of wine. So began most of my days.

Today was different. I hadn’t talked to Thomas in nearly a week. A fucking week. Not even a ‘hey’ or ‘what’s up’. I texted many messages to him since that day, but deleted every single one of them instead of hitting ‘send’. I just didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say to him. One of those messages had been, “I love you.” I sat and stared at ‘send’ for the longest time. I ended up deleting it and crying myself to sleep. So ended most of my nights since then. Fucking Thomas, I’d think, staring at my phone and willing him to message me. He never did.

A half-hour had passed when I began to feel dizzy and needed to lay down. I didn’t quite make it to my bed, and had to slump down on the floor, feeling violently nauseated. I dry-heaved a couple of times, but nothing come up. I was on my elbows and knees still dry-heaving when Mae burst through my bedroom door.

“Guy, what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?” she shrieked at me. “Get up! You’re going to the hospital.”

“Non,” I whined, resisting her as she tried to help me up. I laid down on the floor and groaned, “Just let me die…”

“Die? Guy, you’re not dying, you’re just sick.”

“Sick of living, yes…” I moaned pitifully.

“Get up, Guy, I’m taking you to the hospital. You probably have food pois--uh, Guy?” Mélani had picked up the empty medicine bottle still lying near my feet. “Was this your Vicodin?”

“Maybe… leave me alone, Mae.”

“Guy! I’m serious! How many Vicodin did you take?”

“… 8… 9… 10… 11. 11 Vicodin, ah-ah-ah!” I said, imitating the Count from Sesame Street. Oh great, now I was beginning to lose my mind.

Mélani couldn’t get me up for the life of her, and by then I was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. I heard her talking on the phone, but she sounded a million miles away.

\---

“Water…” I croaked, opening my eyes. I had to shield them from the bright overhead lights, and I was surprised to find Thomas also looming over me. “Tho… Thomah…” I creaked, my throat sore and dry. Thomas quickly reached for a plastic cup filled with water. He offered it to me and I closed my eyes and sipped. I reached up to scratch my nose, which had oxygen tubing on it, and I suddenly realized where I was. “I’m in the hospital, aren’t I?” I questioned Thomas, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

Thomas simply nodded and put the cup of water down. “I a-a-assume you already know why,” Thomas offered bluntly.

I reached for the cup of water and took another sip. “My damn throat hurts…” I complained, avoiding Thomas’ gaze.

“It-it-it should!” Thomas scolded. “They intubated you and pumped out all-all-all your stomach contents. Fucking Guy!” Thomas loomed even closer to me. “Why?! What the fuck were you think-thinking?!”

“I wanted to die,” I stated bluntly, still not looking at him.

“Why, for fuck’s sake?!” Thomas spat. “What’s wrong with you?”

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t even look at him.

“Get me out of this place, Thomah,” I insisted. “I want to be home.”

“Sorry, mon ami,” Thomas apologized. “72-hour hold for attempted su-suicide.”

I hung my head and sighed.

“Why?” Thomas asked again, calmer this time.

I stared at the wall ahead of me, arms crossed. “I fucked things up, Thomah. Our friendship, your marriage… my life. Your life.”

Thomas looked really sad. He knew I spoke the truth.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, looking down at his feet.

“Why not?” I contradicted. “It’s the truth.”

Thomas actually reached out to hold my hand. I almost pulled away, but it was a welcome, comforting gesture. He squeezed it lovingly and sat down on the bed next to me. “Truth is…” Thomas began. “I’d be nothing without you. L-lost. Don’t you get it, Guy? I need you. Don’t ever fucking do this a-again! Don’t fucking leave me!”

We were holding each other by then, sobbing. A nurse came in at that moment and saw how upset I was. She politely told Thomas that he should leave, and then she left the room also. When she came back, she was holding a syringe full of God-knows-what.

“What… what’s that?” I asked nervously.

“Ativan,” she answered. “To calm you down.”

She didn’t even let me protest before she injected it into my arm.

It wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep.


End file.
